Saturday, May 14, 2016

For the One Brenna Aubrey(Gaming the System #5)Publication date: May 10th 2016Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance

He’s got everything but game….

William Drake is an artistic genius with a photographic memory and the intensity to master practically any task. Oh, and he owns a chunk of a billion-dollar gaming company. A twenty-six year-old guy with his wealth, talent, and good looks shouldn’t have problems winning over women. Except he does. To be exact—and detail-obsessed William is always exact—he’s got problems with Jenna Kovac, the troubled beauty who has his heart working overtime and his tongue tied in knots.

And she can’t afford to lose.

Jenna Kovac is a survivor. When war ripped her world apart, she lost her family, her homeland, and her one true love. She’s made a new life for herself in the US, but she’s learned that nothing is permanent, and some nights it’s not even safe to dream. When a scumbag sells her future out from under her, suddenly the only man who can get it back is William Drake, geeky—but scorching-hot—social disaster. William must learn to stay cool under pressure for the all-important duel he’s about to fight. Unless she can teach him to loosen up, she’ll lose everything. Again.

But Jenna’s got a few things to learn from this irresistibly enigmatic man. As they spend time together, they’re soon exchanging long, slow kisses—and painful secrets. There’s so much more to William.

“What the hell was that? Why did you storm off?”
“Because I didn’t want to say anything rude, and you made me angry.”
“Because I asked you to look me in the eye?”
“Yes.”
“Well, maybe I’m just tired of you looking everywhere but my eyes.”
He blinked. “It’s difficult.”
“Why?”
He shook his head. “Because when I’m looking in your eyes, I’m too distracted to hear what you are saying. It’s intense.”
“What’s intense? I mean, I know I’m beautiful, but…” I joked in an effort to lighten the mood.
“Yes. You are beautiful. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
I sucked in a breath. Wow. He’d said it in a matter-of-fact tone as if stating that the sky was undeniably blue. There was no art to the words, no obvious attempt at flattery. Why was my throat closing up like this?
“I was joking.” I laughed self-consciously. “I’m not really that full of myself.”
“I don’t know what that means. But you shouldn’t joke about being beautiful. It’s not a joke.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and waited.
I felt both uncomfortable and pleased at the same time. My cheeks were flaming hot and—ironically—I couldn’t meet his gaze even if he wanted me to.
“I didn’t realize,” I suddenly blurted, my voice trembling with regret.
“What?”
“That it was so hard for you to look in my eyes. I thought that was a myth. I don’t spend a lot of time around autistic people.”
“It’s hard to look in anyone’s eyes, but easier if I know the person.” I was flooded with relief that he seemed okay discussing this. “Mostly it keeps me from focusing on what is being said. It also makes me feel like I’m violating that person’s privacy.”
“By looking in their eyes?”
“Like I’m seeing things that I shouldn’t see.” He shakes his head. “I get tired of having to explain it to people. And you aren’t going to get it so—”
“The eyes are the windows to the soul,” I interrupted quietly.
“Eyes are not windows.”
“It’s a metaphor, Wil. It means that a person’s eyes can show what’s going on with them beneath the surface. So maybe you’re feeling like a Peeping Tom?”
He was quiet for a long time, shifting from one leg to the other. “Yeah, so maybe if I make eye contact with you as long as you want, you’ll let me peep through your window.”
I opened my mouth, about to lodge a protest, when I saw the smile on his face. He was rather pleased with himself and his joke. “Ha ha. Then again, you do stare at my boobs enough.”
“I like your breasts.” His eyes darted to my chest, causing my nipples to tighten under my t-shirt.
I folded my arms to cover my unconscious reaction and laughed. “I can tell.”
“And your butt. And your legs. And—”
“All right, all right. I get the picture. Let’s get in your car,” I said with an exasperated sigh. Typical man.

Author Bio:Brenna Aubrey is a USA TODAY Bestselling Author of contemporary romance stories that center on geek culture. Her debut novel, At Any Price, is currently free on all platforms.
She has always sought comfort in good books and the long, involved stories she weaves in her head. Brenna is a city girl with a nature-lover’s heart. She therefore finds herself out in green open spaces any chance she can get. A mommy to two little kids and teacher to many more older kids, she juggles schedules to find time to pursue her love of storycrafting.
She currently resides on the west coast with her husband, two children, two adorable golden retriever pups, a bird and some fish.

Before trust and love can take
hold, grow solid roots, and blossom into a reality larger than self, fear must
be conquered and faith embraced. Yet fear of an ancient prophecy, of burning
magical power, and a broken heart, Sanura Williams, psychology professor, is
unprepared when Special Agent Assefa Berber enters her life, hunting a
preternatural serial killer. Assefa's intelligent, chocolate eyes and
intoxicating aura signature stirs her fire spirit but frightens the woman.

In a world where all is not as it
seems, Sanura and Assefa must battle the gods' first creations - vile predators
who threaten the safety of humans. Each confrontation, each bloody clash, will
bring Sanura and Assefa closer to fulfilling the prophecy of being the Fire
Witch and Cat of Legend - the ones who will save humanity from the Water Witch
of Legend. Death, godly magic, and physical attraction draw Sanura and Assefa
to each other, but fear and faith will determine their destiny.

Sanura rushed
off the elevator and down a bright corridor with pink, blue, and yellow balloons
decorating the walls of the children’s wing, bordering a mural of happy
children in a park, the sun above affirming their special place in the world.
An illusion, she thought, a beautiful illusion of how life should be for
children. The truth, however, rested behind the closed hospital doors, where
reality had long since claimed their innocence.

Her heels
clicked with each long stride she took, her pace hurried, purposeful. Mike only
sought her counsel on cases of a unique nature, counsel that was off the
record. And she was late. She hated being late, and Mike would worry. Mike
constantly worried. He’d probably already called her mother or Cynthia alerting
them to her MIA status.

Sanura made a
right onto another colorful corridor. At the end of the glistening hallway sat
Mike, cell phone in hand and an all-too-familiar scowl gracing his aging
features. As if sensing her presence, he looked up from his phone, and their
eyes met. His face softened, reminding Sanura of the soft heart encased within
the detective’s tortoise shell of a body.

“I’m sorry I’m
late. The beltway was a beast.” She bent to give Mike a heartfelt hug, her long
arms circling his taut shoulders.

“It’s all right.
I was just beginning to worry about you, but you showed up before I had a
chance to call Cynthia.”

“You always
worry about me, and I’ll tell you the same thing I told Dad and I tell Mom, I
can—”

“Take care of
myself,” he finished. “I know, but that won’t stop me from worrying, so you
might as well accept it.”

She kissed Mike
on the cheek and sat beside him in one of the wooden chairs lining the hallway,
conveniently serving as a family waiting area.

“So, tell me
about this case of yours, the girl, and what you need me to do.” Sanura leaned
back in the chair and crossed her legs, seeking a comfort she knew wouldn’t
last once Mike began.

Sanura listened
to the detailed, unabridged facts of the case, having already read reports of
the slayings in the Baltimore Sun. The gruesome murders headlined every local
news program from the early morning news to the eleven o’clock evening news.

She nodded,
listening intently to details about Elizabeth Ferrell’s horrific night. While
Sanura enjoyed using her training to help Mike, she hated when the case
involved children, which didn’t make any sense since she was a child
psychologist. Perhaps that was it, she reasoned, as Mike regaled her with one
morbid piece of evidence followed by an even more depressing fact. Perhaps it
took a person who detested even the thought of an injured child to be such a
strong advocate for their rights and protection. Sanura wanted to help those
lost souls. No, she needed to help them, free them from their pain, their
misery.

So she sat and
listened and fought the urge to cover her mouth and squirm in her chair when
Mike described the crime scene photos his temporary partner had shown him
earlier in the day. And just when she was about to tell him she didn’t need to
know the coroner’s findings, a wave of energy slammed into her, shredding her
concentration, dissolving all thoughts of the child and the case. The energy
rode Sanura hard, forcing her eyes to close, mouth slightly parting, aura open
and alert, searching for the source.

Deep breaths,
Sanura. Deep, calming breaths.

With embarrassed
concentration, she slowly opened her eyes. And a smiling stranger stood before
her, a chilled bottle of water in his right hand.

Their eyes met,
and another blast of energy assaulted her senses. She didn’t close her eyes
this time and refused to look away. No, Sanura simply absorbed the magical
energy, opening her senses and pulling the scent to her. It swirled about her,
strong but gentle. And while it should have felt strange, as if her body had
been invaded by a foreign substance, it simply felt—right.

The man’s eyes
widened, almost as much as his nostrils when he inhaled deeply. Still he only
stared, gaze unwavering, eyes sparkling with unasked questions. Yeah, she had
questions of her own, like, had he experienced the odd sensation too? Sanura
didn’t know. But she had felt it, as strongly as she now felt the heat of his
gaze roaming her body, slow and sensual, ratcheting up the indescribable energy
between them tenfold. Damn.

Mike stood and
placed himself between Sanura and the fine stranger with the most tantalizing
aura she had ever sensed. Mike faced the man, his head craned up to meet the
taller man’s eyes, a snarl seeping through his lips when he said, “We talked
about this, remember what I said.”

Frowning, the
stranger gave Mike a hard you’re-not-worth-my-time look before gazing over
Mike’s shoulder and at her. His smile returned and settled firmly on her
still-seated form. Angling from behind her godfather, the stranger extended his
right hand.

Sanura stood and
returned the smile. She took the offered hand and shook, trying—futilely—to
ignore his unique masculine scent. The scent went straight to all the right
places, subtly finding her genetic code and adding his. Impossible. “Yes, it’s
nice to meet you, Special Agent Berber. Mike’s told me so much about you.” But
not everything. Not nearly.

N. D. Jones lives in Maryland
with her husband and two children. Having earned a M.A. in Political Science,
she is a dedicated educator. She taught high school social studies for nine
years. Currently, she is a professional development specialist with a local
Maryland school system, working on increasing student achievement through teacher
and administrator efficacy. N.D. is also a continuing education student who is
pursuing her doctorate in education in Community College Leadership.

A desire to see more novels with
positive, sexy, and three-dimensional African American characters as soul
mates, friends, and lovers, inspired the author to take on the challenge of
penning such romantic reads. She is the author of two paranormal romance
series: Winged Warriors and Death and Destiny. N.D. likes to read historical
and paranormal romance novels, as well as comics and manga.

Magic is powerful, dangerous and addictive – and after passage of the 18th Amendment, it is finally illegal.

It’s 1926 in Washington, DC, and while Anti-Sorcery activists have achieved the Prohibition of sorcery, the city’s magic underworld is booming. Sorcerers cast illusions to aid mobsters’ crime sprees. Smugglers funnel magic contraband in from overseas. Gangs have established secret performance venues where patrons can lose themselves in magic, and take a mind-bending, intoxicating elixir known as the sorcerer’s shine.

Joan Kendrick, a young sorcerer from Norfolk County, Virginia accepts an offer to work for DC’s most notorious crime syndicate, the Shaw Gang, when her family’s home is repossessed. Alex Danfrey, a first-year Federal Prohibition Unit trainee with a complicated past and talents of his own, becomes tapped to go undercover and infiltrate the Shaws.

Through different paths, Joan and Alex tread deep into the violent, dangerous world of criminal magic – and when their paths cross at the Shaws’ performance venue, despite their orders, and despite themselves, Joan and Alex become enchanted with one another. But when gang alliances begin to shift, the two sorcerers are forced to question their ultimate allegiances and motivations. And soon, Joan and Alex find themselves pitted against each other in a treacherous, heady game of cat-and-mouse.

A CRIMINAL MAGIC casts a spell of magic, high stakes and intrigue against the backdrop of a very different Roaring Twenties.

GANGSTERS!
Real-Life Gangsters that Inspired the Tough Guys in A CRIMINAL MAGIC

The pitch for my latest book, A CRIMINAL MAGIC, is THE NIGHT CIRCUS meets THE PEAKY BLINDERS, and for anyone who’s seen that twisty, violent BBC drama, you’ll know this means there’s some pretty hardened criminals in this one. My story takes place during an alternative Prohibition-era America, but instead of alcohol, magic has been prohibited. And just like during real Prohibition, gangsters have created an extensive, lucrative underworld to make sure people still get what they want, despite the letter of the law.
Because the magic in this novel is tricky and dangerous by nature, I knew I needed gangsters that weren’t just ruthless – these wise guys had to be clever, driven, and one step ahead of the sorcerers they employ in all aspects of their illegal trade. For inspiration and ideas, I naturally turned to history. Here are some of the notorious, hardnosed gangsters that most inspired me while writing A CRIMINAL MAGIC:
Owen “Owney” Madden was a New York gangster nicknamed “the Killer,” and aptly so as he was known for his very public executions. Madden more than once gunned down his rival gang members in the streets, and he allegedly shot a man on a trolley for flirting with his date. Despite being a hothead, he was also a shrewd businessman, and ran The Cotton Club (as well as some other swanky speakeasies) in New York City. In my novel, Erwin McEvoy, the boss of the Irish Shaw Gang, is loosely based on Madden (with a little Boo Boo Hoff thrown in there too. Boo Boo’s up next).
I have to admit, I was first attracted to Max “Boo Boo” Hoff because of his name, but the more I read about this Philly-based crime boss, the more fascinated I became. Hoff was a boxer turned gangster, and his bootlegging operation was so successful during Prohibition, it’s claimed he had an office of operations with 175 phones and a weekly payroll of $30,000 (in the 1920s)! Also known for his partying and extravagant lifestyle, Hoff frequently rubbed shoulders with celebrity types at his lavish affairs.
Also intriguing was Guiseppe “Joe the Boss” Masseria, the head of the New York Italian-American mafia – the city’s powerful crime alliance known as the Five Families – during the later years of Prohibition. But Masseria was a bit of an underworld dictator: he even required monetary tributes from other Families as testaments of their loyalty. His reign naturally didn’t last: several families declared war on Masseria, which broke up the crime dynasty and led to his execution. I loosely based my novel’s Italian-American gang, the D Street Outfit, on Masseria’s New York operation.
And of course, no list of Prohibition-era gangsters would be complete without Al Capone. Though my novel’s young gangster-on-the-rise, Harrison Gunn, is actually nothing like media-hungry Capone was, I couldn’t believe that Capone was at the height of his power and became a Chicago crime boss in his mid-twenties. So I made Gunn younger (originally he was going to be middle-aged), to help rev up the tension between him and my female protagonist, Joan.

Author Bio:

Lee Kelly has wanted to write since she was old enough to hold a pencil, but it wasn’t until she began studying for the California Bar Exam that she conveniently started putting pen to paper. An entertainment lawyer by trade, Lee has practiced law in Los Angeles and New York. She lives with her husband and children in Millburn, New Jersey, though after a decade in Manhattan, she can’t help but still call herself a New Yorker. She is the author of A Criminal Magic and City of Savages. Visit her at www.NewWriteCity.com.

Medina Argos is a woman on the
run from her present and her past. One of three sisters in an international art
theft ring, she flees when a routine art heist goes too far. But this curvy
girl is about to learn that some hearts beat to a different drum and the road
to love is sometimes the less traveled one, even for a woman with secrets.

Thomas Sauveterre is a renowned
art restoration specialist. Nothing is more important to him than his daughter,
Gabrielle. When he takes on the largest
project of his career, he also gains a security officer in the bargain. But
love can be hiding in the most surprising places if he can only open his heart
to find it.

Grayson Maberry is a man on the
brink. Charged with protecting property and guarding the family he’s currently
assigned, he is torn by duty and a love that may never be. But a true guardian
will wait forever and this gargoyle may have just met his match. Twice.

“Oh my God. Will
you just shut up?” Medina Argos growled under her breath as the snakes beneath
her skin hissed and whispered. It was the same word, over and over again and
she was about to lose her damned mind.

Pretties…

Yes. Pretties.
She needed to find a new pretty or her sisters were going to have her head on a
spit—and that was before breakfast. She massaged her temples and willed the
pounding in her head to freaking stop. The print of the newspaper spread across
the table swam like ants in front of her eyes.
She lowered her lids, blocking out the bright daylight streaming in
through the blinds. Her snakes loved the light but she on the other hand wished
it would cloud up and rain like hell. Then at least the migraine would stop.
Just another thing for them to disagree about.

The gallery
exhibits laid out in the entertainment section tugged at her consciousness but
nothing really rang true. Maybe it was the headache.

Pretties…

“Ugh.” She
reached for her coffee and took a large gulp.

The full moon
was right around the corner and her snakes were at it hard today. Their voices were a snarl of murmurs that
were ever so slowly driving her insane. And they really needed another thing to
focus on. Like maybe where she could go to find a good brownie. Or some chocolate
chip pancakes. But all they wanted to whisper about was the one thing she
couldn’t get them to agree on—their next mark.

“Would you hurry
up, already?” She mumbled, poking her stylus into her hair. They hadn’t popped
out for a visit yet today, but if this headache kept up, goddess only knew.
Temperamental at best, her girls were moody man-hating bitches most days and
that was saying something.

So she talked to
her hair. Most shifters she knew had the same dual natured problems she did,
only they weren’t stuck having snakes for hair and an ass that turned into a
giant snake rear end. Well, to be fair, her legs sort of turned into the back
end of a giant snake, but it was all semantics. On most people’s scale of sexy,
snakes weren’t high up on the list. Hell, they probably weren’t even on the
list, but when you’re smote by a goddess, it isn’t like you have much say in
the matter.

Other people
she’d come across in her travels had at least been wolf shifters or even cats.
She, on the other hand, was afflicted with a mythological curse that left her
hissing at the moon instead of howling at it. One of the snakes wiggled in her
hair and she absentmindedly poked at it with her stylus.

“Not yet. Go
back to sleep.”

There went the
coolness thing again.

The snakes
hissed at her in censure and she sighed. She reached for her cup of coffee and
took another sip. The hot black liquid slid over her tongue, cinnamon and
earthy. The morning had come too soon. Nightmares woke her in the middle of the
night, shaking and sweating, just like clockwork. Her throat closed up like it did when the
bastard in her nightmare closed his hand around her neck, cutting off her air,
his eyes narrowed into slits filled with rage filled spite.

Favored by the
goddess…You’ll be crawling by the time I’m done with you.

And she had
been.

About
the Author:

Erzabet Bishop is the award
winning author of Sigil Fire, Written on Skin, Fetish Fair, Temptation Resorts
interactive erotic romances, Holiday Cruise, Gingerbread Dreams, Pomegranate,
Crave, A Red Dress for Christmas, Holidays in Hell, Lipstick, The Science of
Lust, Club Beam, Sweet Seductions: The Erzabet Bishop Collection and multiple
books in the Erotic Pagan Series. She is a contributing author to Club Rook,
Taboo II, Hungry for More, A Christmas to Remember, Forbidden Fruit, Sci
Spanks, Spank or Treat, Sweat, When the Clock Strikes Thirteen, Bossy, Cougars,
Can’t Get Enough, Slave Girls, The Big Book of Submission, Anything She Wants,
Bondage Bites, Coming Together: Girl on Girl, Coming Together: For the Holidays
and more. She was a finalist for the GCLS awards in 2014 and 2015. She lives in
Texas with her husband, furry children and can often be found lurking in local
bookstores.

The daughter of a sultan alpha, Selena Kurt agrees to an arranged wulfkin mating to protect her sister from a dangerous alpha from the enemy clan. To her surprise, her match is Marcin Ulf, the next in line for the Hungarian throne . . . and the wulfkin who broke her heart years ago.

Marcin is just as shocked to learn he’ll be matched to the enemy’s daughter and the woman he’s never forgotten. Before they can be paired, however, they’re drawn into a tournament where Marcin will compete to free his estranged imprisoned brother, while Selena battles for the life of another wulfkin alpha. Both intend to seize this chance to save those they’re fighting for – even if it means facing off with one another just as their romance rekindles.

Will tribe loyalty triumph, or will they realize they’re better off as a team before it’s too late?

Cloaked in Blood is the book 3 in the Wulfkin Legacy series, but can be read a stand-alone-book.

Wulfkin Legacy Series:
Cloaked (prequel to #1) – Out now
Cloaked in Fur (Book #1) – Out now
Cloaked in Secrecy (Book #2) – Out now
Cloaked in Blood (Book #3) – Out now
Cloaked in Christmas – End of 2016Sign up here for T.F. Walsh’s newsletter to keep up to date with latest releases, giveaways, and exclusive content.

SELENA
Then another wulfkin entered the room behind him. Solid, tall, and all shoulders.
And suddenly my heart hammered so hard the walls seemed to be thumping too.
Marcin.
Windblown hair draped over his shoulders, tawny brown strands reaching halfway down his chest. His shirt was torn across his shoulder. Blood stained the fabric, worn as a badge of honor for whatever heroic deeds he’d accomplished.
Our gazes locked, and he stopped midstride. It was like a sucker punch to the gut. All the air left my lungs, leaving me light-headed.
Sea-spray blue eyes, darker than I remembered them, searched my face. Shock crammed behind his gaze as his cheeks blanched. He’d had no idea I was coming here—it was written all over his frozen expression, the way his mouth fell open, his breath hitched.
My wolf prodded me, stirring inside, well aware of who stood before us. Marcin had grown into even more of a wulfkin god: muscular, strong cheekbones, and a chest broad enough for me to sleep across. All I could think about was touching him to make sure he was real and not in my imagination.
Move closer. Take him.
I shouldn’t, yet every molecule in my body fought against the logic that said stay away.
Sure, I’d planned for this very moment and even practiced my nonchalant response in front of the mirror. Except now, my voice was wedged somewhere between my toes and head. My body shook with the desperate urge to be pressed up against him, feel his hungry kisses, and listen to his wicked whispers. I struggled with the charge in my veins screaming that I should run to him, throw my arms around his neck, and forget the past nine years. Forget that he tore out my soul. Forget that I mistook him as my mate because he’d lied to me. Abandoned me.

Author Bio:

T.F. Walsh emigrated from Romania to Australia at the age of eight and now lives in a regional city south of Sydney with her husband. Growing up hearing dark fairytales, she's always had a passion for reading and writing horror, paranormal romance, urban fantasy and young adult stories. She balances all the dark with light fluffy stuff like baking and traveling.

Peitho’s first job as an Immortal
Representative means slumming it at the Shifter Convention, where shifters and
supernaturals will be meeting to discuss concerns and build relations. She’s
sure it’s going to be boring—all they have to complain about is fleas and
territory.

Wait . . . is that a dragon?

Obsessive is a strong word.

Hunter thinks Peitho would make a
great addition to his hoard of treasure. Dragons are famously acquisitive; how
is he supposed to ignore her? Everyone always says it’s bad to fight your
nature.

When shifters begin disappearing
from the convention, and bodies quickly appearing, Peitho and Hunter have no
choice but to investigate. Will Hunter and Peitho manage to solve the crime
while still keeping their hearts intact?

Victoria C. Johnson lives in
Michigan with her supportive husband and amazing family. She became serious
about her passion for writing shortly after having her daughter. As someone who
strongly believes in doing what makes you happy, she decided to follow her own
advice. She loves writing almost as much as she loves reading. Victoria adores
happy endings, heartfelt characters, and extraordinary situations. She hopes to
bring a little more of that to life every day.

Magic can do a lot—give you flight, show you mermaids, help you taste the stars, and… solve the budget crisis? That’s what the grown-ups will do with it if they ever make it to Neverland to steal its magic and bring their children home.

However, Gwen doesn’t know this. She’s just a sixteen-year-old girl with a place on the debate team and a powerful crush on Jay, the soon-to-be homecoming king. She doesn’t know her little sister could actually run away with Peter Pan, or that she might have to chase after her to bring her home safe. Gwen will find out though—and when she does, she’ll discover she’s in the middle of a looming war between Neverland and reality.

She’ll be out of place as a teenager in Neverland, but she won’t be the only one. Peter Pan’s constant treks back to the mainland have slowly aged him into adolescence as well. Soon, Gwen will have to decide whether she’s going to join impish, playful Peter in his fight for eternal youth… or if she’s going to scramble back to reality in time for the homecoming dance.

A flash of lightning electrified the sky, shooting light through the forest with a jarring pang. The boom of thunder followed immediately after. The sky was grey and the clouds shifted like a swarm of dark fish in a pond. Gwen feared she would be caught in a storm, but not a drop of rain had fallen yet.
All at once, Gwen found herself in a meadow. She had never been here before; she knew that. Wildflowers cropped up in sporadic clumps, and the long, green grasses were uncut at her calves. The tree line had suddenly broken. One minute, she was racing through the forest, the next, she was floating here. Pausing to catch her breath, she ironically felt safer in this open area than in the claustrophobic security of the forest. She landed gently, unthinkingly. Turning her head to the sky, she saw the faint grey clouds blowing and rolling away. Darker clouds seemed to be coming to take their place.
On the other side of the meadow, Peter burst into the clearing. Bramble was leading him, guiding the boy to poor, lost Gwen. If Gwen had understood the fairy language, she would have already known that.
“Gwenny!”
“Peter?” Gwen shouted. She ran to him, and between her bounding strides and his quick flight, they met in the middle of the meadow, cornflowers and lilacs growing up around them. Perhaps if he had been on the ground initially, she would have hugged him. Peter lingered in the air for just a moment though, and by the time he landed, the impulse to hug each other had melted away into urgent discussion. “What are you doing out here?” His voice carried the sort of anger that only accompanied concern.
“I got lost in the woods; I was trying to come back. Is something wrong, Peter?”
Bramble flitted back and forth, pacing in the air, objecting to Peter and Gwen having this conversation now, rather than when they were safely underground.
“The opposition, they’ve launched an attack. We’ve got to get to cover.”
“What? No, it’s just a storm.” Gwen didn’t understand what Peter was telling her, but she had already made up her mind that she didn’t believe it.
“Gwen-dollie, we’ve got to go. There’s—”
The sky was suddenly drained of light. The thin, grey clouds that had blocked the sun were eclipsed by darker, brooding storm clouds, and as the daylight faded, small, grey flecks began to rain down. As they drifted softly, Gwen knew it wasn’t rain. Her attention was as captivated as Peter’s was, but she did not understand what it was the way he did. “Snow?” she asked quizzically, looking at the grey and dirty powder as it started to fall around her.
Peter held out his hand and caught a flake of it, crushing it in his hand. It left a smoky residue on his palm. “Ash.”
The winds picked up, and more of the ash furiously fluttered down. It became larger, and Gwen could hardly comprehend the charred flecks of paper that were plummeting down. Peter zipped up into the air, jumping more than flying, to grab a large square of it. He came back down immediately, a look of horror on his face.
“Peter, what is it?” Gwen pled, hoping that her fear was born of her unknowing, that if she only had answers she wouldn’t be afraid, but from the look on his face, she knew that answers would only bring more fear.
The invisible hand of the wind grabbed the paper from out of Peter’s hold. It blew straight to Gwen. Catching it, she realized it was a page from out of a newspaper; the title read—ISIS ATTACK ON ERBIL; HUNDREDS DEAD.
She had seen newspaper headlines before, but this news did not belong here. Not in Neverland. It was too dark, too terrifying of a thing to read amid the lilacs and cornflowers. Again, she begged, “What is this, Peter?”
The page was torn out of her hand by the vindictive wind. Peter answered her, with a word she had never feared so greatly. “Reality.”

Author Bio:

Audrey Greathouse is a lost child in a perpetual and footloose quest for her own post-adolescent Neverland. Originally from Seattle, she earned her English B.A. from Southern New Hampshire University's online program while backpacking around the west coast and pretending to be a student at Stanford. A pianist, circus artist, fire-eater, street mime, swing dancer, and novelist, Audrey wears many hats wherever she is. She has grand hopes for the future which include publishing more books and owning a crockpot. You can find her at audreygreathouse.com

Tuesday, May 10, 2016

I stared at the overly large bags that lay by the front entrance with what must have been the world’s largest what the fuck look on my face.

“I’m done, Paxton.”

After his bitter marriage ends, Paxton seeks respite from his loss. Rediscovering his writing, he never expected to create a piece worthy of reading, nor for two unsuspecting paths to cross in the most unconventional of ways.

Thousands of miles separated them, yet he’d never felt closer to anyone. Finding out that happiness and love was attainable again was one thing. But having Alissa – that was something else all together!

When the two finally meet in person, sparks fly. Their chemistry is beyond explosive, and emotions reach a boiling point. Their brief love affair ignited the fuse, but Paxton is shocked when his young son fans their fire. His sweet four-year-old boy immediately falls for the loving, meek, demurred woman in Alissa, and she starts to change both their lives. Then, she becomes their salvation – in ways no one could see coming.

When I married, I had intended it to be for life.
Well, I guess life had a plan of its own, huh?
With each passing day, I picked up the broken pieces of me. I hadn’t realized that I had stifled so much of myself over the years to try and please a woman that seemed to never be sated with anything I said or did.
Fueled by my feelings of loss and neglect, I made a decision, which led me to rediscover an old love.
The proverbial flame was rekindled, and I began to write again.
For what felt like an eternity, I wrote. When I was done, I read my piece over so many times that my words no longer made sense, forcing me to put it down and go back to it later.
I stared at my finished manuscript displayed on my screen.What am I going to do with this?
I had discovered a site, a few months before. It had been recommended by a colleague. The venue allowed people from around the world to peruse and read various works written by amateurs. Some of the work on there I found horrid, while others, despite their various grammatical and punctual flaws, you wished you could set your hands on an edited and printed copy, they were so great.What the hell.
I decided to chance it.
With a bit of copy and paste, and a little restructuring, I hit the publish button and there it was. My first written piece was out for the world to see.
It wasn’t until a few months after I had posted my work that I stumbled upon a comment that I couldn’t dismiss. I ached for constructive feedback, but the lack of it was getting to me due to the site being overrun by teenagers. I debated getting rid of my profile altogether up until that fateful day.
That short message was where things began to change for me. With simple words of appreciation, intellectual and heartfelt thoughts, followed by a click of her mouse, Alissa had made me smile.
I sought her profile out and found that she was a fellow amateur writer just like me.She’s gorgeous, had been my first impression. Despite her evident beauty, something else could be seen in her profile photo; something that beckoned me further, begged my curiosity to look beyond the surface. It was in her eyes.
Loneliness.
Or was I reading into things too much, since I was such a novice at these social media-like sites?
For a few weeks, I sat on Alissa’s words alone as I read through some of her work.
She was good.
Better than good.
I thought that I’d end up with one of those written numbers that didn’t make much sense or that glittered in the night featuring vampires and werewolves. Boy was I wrong!
The woman sure knew how to paint a vivid picture. She pulled off the hot and sexy but kept it real all at once by adding emotion, drama, even a bit of action and suspense to her mix. Her work was altogether something reminiscent of everyday life: the good, the bad, the ugly, the… Well, you get the picture.
A few days after reading her last novel, a dream influenced by her work prompted me to finally write out an acknowledgment to her comment.
From there, we began to chat through private messages on a near daily basis.
We never stopped…

Author Bio:

Born and raised in small town Northern Ontario, Canada, Carey Decevito has always had a penchant for reading and writing.
More than a decade later, with weeks of sleepless nights, where exhaustion settled into her everyday existence, she finally gave in and put pen to paper (more like fingers to keyboard!) She submitted to the dreams that plagued her. And the rest, as they say, is history!
A member of the RWA, Carey Decevito enjoys spending time with family and friends, the outdoors, travelling, and playing tourist in Canada's National Capital region. When life gets crazy, she seeks respite through her writing and reading. If all else fails, she knows there's never a dull moment with her two daughters, her goofy husband, and cat who she swears is out to get her.

They are the light against the darkness. The steel against the necromancy of the Druj. And they use demons to hunt demons….Nazafareen lives for revenge. A girl of the isolated Four-Legs Clan, all she knows about the King’s elite Water Dogs is that they bind wicked creatures called daevas to protect the empire from the Undead. But when scouts arrive to recruit young people with the gift, she leaps at the chance to join their ranks. To hunt the monsters that killed her sister.

Scarred by grief, she’s willing to pay any price, even if it requires linking with a daeva named Darius. Human in body, he’s possessed of a terrifying power, one that Nazafareen controls. But the golden cuffs that join them have an unwanted side effect. Each experiences the other’s emotions, and human and daeva start to grow dangerously close.

As they pursue a deadly foe across the arid waste of the Great Salt Plain to the glittering capital of Persepolae, unearthing the secrets of Darius’s past along the way, Nazafareen is forced to question his slavery—and her own loyalty to the empire. But with an ancient evil stirring in the north, and a young conqueror sweeping in from the west, the fate of an entire civilization may be at stake…

My eyes flew open at the crack of dawn. I groaned and rubbed my forehead. My scalp tingled, an icy, unpleasant sensation. I knew right away where Darius was and what he was doing. It was another side effect of the bond, I’d discovered. I could feel his heart beating. I knew that one of his boots was too tight. I could shut my eyes and tell you exactly where he was, even if he was hundreds of leagues away.

Why had no one told me what it would be like? I supposed Tijah did, but this was much worse than I’d expected. Much, much worse.
I threw on my new scarlet tunic and marched down to the river. Tendrils of mist swirled through the dead reeds at the edge. It was late autumn and the air had a dank chill that promised snow.
My daēva stood there, stripped to the waist, pouring water over his head with his right hand. He wore a gold faravahar on a chain around his neck, its eagle wings spread wide. His left arm lay at his side, grey and dead. I stared at his shoulder, at the juncture where smooth skin met rough. His Druj curse.
It slowed me for a moment, seeing that pathetic arm, but I wasn’t yet ready to forgive him for waking me. That was my excuse, anyway. Of course, what really angered me was the terrible realization that I was burdened with a sorrow not my own, but that bled me nonetheless. What really angered me was him—everything about him.
He was calmer this morning, but I wasn’t. I stopped about twenty feet away. He didn’t turn around although he knew I was there.
“It’s nice that you’re so pious,” I said. “But don’t you think it’s a little early to be down here performing the morning rites?”
He paused, then dumped the last of the water from the bowl. I felt the cold trickle down my spine and my lips tightened.
“I was taught by the magi to come at first light,” Darius said. “Did you expect to sleep in? I’m afraid that’s not the way it works for Water Dogs.” He smiled, and we both knew it was fake. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you in some way.”
I stared at him, at the dark hair plastered across his forehead, his stubborn mouth. He looked so human. And yet there was something in the way Darius held himself, perfectly at ease in his own skin. Still but coiled, like the wolves I’d seen in the mountains.
“You haven’t offended me in the least,” I said. “I suppose you need the blessing more than I do.”
I spun on my heel and walked away, knowing I had wounded him. A small stab to my own heart. And I felt slightly ashamed. But that wasn’t the end of it. Then I felt his satisfaction at my shame. And my own anger that he knew and was glad.
And then his amusement at my anger!
I stalked off, determined to think nothing, to feel nothing, ever again.
If only it were that easy.

Author Bio:

Kat Ross worked as a journalist at the United Nations for ten years before happily falling back into what she likes best: making stuff up. She lives in Westchester with her kid and a few sleepy cats. Kat is also the author of the dystopian thriller Some Fine Day (Skyscape, 2014), about a world where the sea levels have risen sixty meters. She loves magic, monsters and doomsday scenarios. Preferably with mutants.